Passing through San Diego years ago, and in anticipation of the impending zombie apocalypse or the subjugation of humankind by Skynet, I availed myself of the services of a local shooting range.
My first practice round was with this Smith and Wesson .22 revolver.
Got much better on the second round with the same gun.
Then I put the .22 pea-shooter down and, for my final round and picked up a beast – a .50 Desert Eagle AutoMag made by the Israelis; mainly for export to the USA (surprise, surprise). In actuality, I had espied said fearsome hand-cannon on first entering the range, but the manageress wisely suggested that I try the puny S&W first. Now, competence proven, I felt ready to handle the Israeli blunderbuss.
[Aside: The monster fires shells as big as the forefinger of a big man and produces recoil enough to reduce one to tears (jus’ sayin’ – I didn’t cry, honestly!) Another cunning design feature is that it ejects the spent shell directly into the face of the shooter, thus taking out both the shooter and the intended target (“shootee”?) with one blow! Hm. Wonder how many they sell to NRA members?]
The power of the weapon is a good thing. Not because it can destroy your enemies, oh no. You see, I was sharing the range with this macho numb-nuts blasting away with a shiny 12 gauge riot pump. Hah! My mini-dragon easily drowned out the sound of his big dumb shotgun. And, talking about dragons, the Mag also shot out a jet of flame about a foot long with each shot.
Still, as I wasn’t Bridgette Nielsen in Beverly Hills Cop II, so I only managed to shoot off a few, before becoming soaked in sweat. I also began to develop a growing fear that the recoil would leave me with shattered wrist bones, or that a spent shell casing would blind me. Pathetic.